


Redemption

by CaptAcorn



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4539348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptAcorn/pseuds/CaptAcorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A medical crisis occurs on Voyager at a particularly bad time for Tom. For anyone out there that still enjoys a P/T story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a canon-consistent work, and takes place in season 7 -- sometime after Lineage. It’s a completed story of eleven chapters that I’ll be posting in installments every few days or so. All the standard disclaimers apply. A non-standard one -- I read that book with all the Voyager crew backstories years ago, so used some names, etc from there. But I don’t remember it all that well (and didn’t like it all that much) so parts of my story may not match up with the book. Lastly, some the plot was a wee bit inspired by a great early episode of MASH called “Carry on Hawkeye.” This first chapter is a quick one, more of a prologue than anything else.

Tom Paris settled in at the controls of the Delta Flyer, and started his pre-flight check. His very pregnant wife put her hands on his shoulders for a quick squeeze, and kissed the top of his head. “Put us down carefully, Flyboy. The baby and I are counting on you,” she said as she moved to the back of the craft. 

“Are we all set for takeoff, Mr Paris?” Captain Kathryn Janeway was seated at the station just behind him. 

“I just have to finish pre-flight, Captain,” Tom replied, as he ran through his mental checklist. 

“We don’t have time for that,” Janeway said dismissively, “We need to go now. There’s an ion storm coming.” 

“Captain, it will only take another minute, I don’t think-”

“I expected more of you, Lieutenant,” Janeway glowered at him, “than to question my orders. You do remember what happened last time?” 

Tom swiveled around to look at his CO. “Captain, that’s not what I meant! I just…” He faltered in the face of her steely eyed gaze and turned back to his post. “Preparing for immediate departure, Captain.”

“That’s all that I ask, Lieutenant,” she said sternly. Her tone changed completely when she turned to address his wife, “B’Elanna! I hear Caldik Prime is lovely this time of year!” 

“Me, too, Captain,” B’Elanna agreed readily, “I just hope nothing happens to ruin our picnic!”

“I wouldn’t count on it, ladies.” Tom heard a gruff voice behind him. “Tom here has a reputation for some pretty crappy piloting.”

Tom twisted his head to look at the bear-like man looming over him. “Bruno,” he whispered.

“Oh don’t give me that look, Tommy boy. You know I’m right!” he slapped Tom hard on the back, and took a seat on the nav console so he could stare down the pilot. “I can’t wait to see how you fuck up this time.”

“Mr. Paris! What are you doing? We’re about to hit that ion storm!” the Captain called out urgently. 

Tom quickly returned his attention back to the conn, only to find that the entire panel had gone dark. “B’Elanna! What’s happening? I’ve lost navigation, helm control, everything!”

“You should have finished the pre-flight, Flyboy,” a woman’s voice hissed at him. 

“Odile?” Tom swiveled around to stare at the angry French woman at the engineering station B’Elanna had occupied a moment earlier.

“Looks like we’re going to crash, Tom. Again.” A red-haired man said in a resigned tone from the Captain's recent seat, nodding towards the front of the craft. 

Tom looked at the view screen only to see ground rushing up to meet them. And then he awoke with a gasp.

*** 

In reality it took less than a full second for him to sit up, but it felt like an eternity before Tom was able to overcome the feeling that an unseen force pinned him to the bed. He took several shaking breaths before turning to look at the bed’s other occupant. She was still asleep. Tom was grateful. B’Elanna was about 24 weeks along in her pregnancy now; and though she was loathe to admit it, her regular work load (which was about twice that of everyone else’s, with the exception of the Captain) was taking its toll. Every night this week she had fallen asleep reading engineering reports in bed, thoroughly exhausted. The last thing he wanted was for his nightmare to disturb her rest.

No stranger to bad dreams, Tom knew it would be an hour or more before he would be able to sleep again, if he was able to return to bed at all. He extracted himself carefully from the blankets and moved into the sitting area of their quarters, calling softly for 20% illumination. As he got a glass of water, he puzzled over his latest dream, even as the images became muddled and his heart rate slowed. It wasn’t an unfamiliar theme, of course, but the timing was odd. He typically only had nightmares now when he was under a lot of stress, and lately things had been as routine as they ever got in the Delta Quadrant. 

A sudden thought occurred to him, and his nearly full glass fell to the carpet with a dull thud. He stumbled over to the couch and activated the monitor on the coffee table with shaking fingers. He stared intently at the screen as it flickered back to life, and studied the stardate noted at the header. It took him several moments before he could focus his thoughts enough to translate the numbers to the corresponding Earth standard date. When he finally did, he buried his face in his hands and wept.


	2. Chapter 2

Lieutenant B’Elanna Torres was on a mission. She stomped past one of her more junior engineers in the corridor and quelled his questioning face with a quick glare. She needed to find her husband _now_ , and make him tell her what the hell was the matter with him.

As she reached the door to sickbay, she paused. Calm down, B’Elanna, she reprimanded herself, Acting pissed off won’t help anything.

As happy as they were together since their wedding, neither B’Elanna nor Tom would ever claim their relationship was easy. B’Elanna often marveled that she managed to fall for the one person on the ship whose trust issues and penchant for self-loathing rivaled her own. The death of the other Maquis, Tom’s “quarter life crisis” (as he liked to call it) and the mess with Steth, Crell Moset, Alice, and on and on and on. There were countless times when one of them would push the other away, countless ways that it seemed like the whole universe was telling them their relationship wasn’t meant to be. And yet… the way Tom had cared for her after she had infiltrated the Borg cube with Tuvok and  the Captain. The proposal of marriage on the Delta Flyer during that idiotic race. And now, their baby. Something had clicked for B’Elanna, that terrible day in sickbay when she almost genetically altered their child. For the first time since, well, ever -- she found herself trusting someone with her whole heart and no reservations.

Which is why she was so angry at him for not trusting her the same way.

When she woke this morning and found herself alone in their quarters, she knew immediately what was wrong. She had been waiting the last few days for him to open up to her; to really talk to her about Caldik Prime for the first time, instead of the occasional detail and vague allusions he’d let drop in the past. She didn’t want to push him -- she knew very well after Tarakis that he had to decide to talk to her in his own time. And to be honest, on the surface he’d seemed fine -- his normal (sometimes annoyingly) chipper self. But she knew he had to be hurting. When she discovered he’d switched his shift at the conn this morning for one in sickbay, it only supported her suspicion that he was in pain and trying to hide it from her. Even if she couldn’t get him to talk about it yet, she wanted to remind him that he could rely on her; the same way she had relied on him many times in the past. Even if that meant reminding him by ripping him a new one.

The door slid open and Tom’s back was to her, as he leaned over the empty biobed in the surgical bay. She called out to him, only partially successful in keeping the irritation out of her voice, “I’m not used to waking up alone anymore. I didn’t like it.”

“Oh. Hi,” Tom said, and as soon as he turned to her B’Elanna felt her anger melt away. It was subtle, and perhaps not noticeable to much of the crew, but to her eyes Tom was clearly in a bad way. From the low set of his shoulders to the faint shadows under his eyes, she suspected he’d been awake for many hours.

She put her hands on her hips, but her expression and tone were kind. “That’s not much of an explanation, Flyboy.”

He favored her with a small smile, but B’Elanna could see it didn’t reach his eyes, “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I didn’t want to disturb you. You need your rest.” He turned back to the diagnostic he was running on the biobed.  

B’Elanna came up behind and rested her hand on his shoulder, “Tom… I think I know what’s going on. Maybe you want to talk about it?”

He stopped working the tricorder. “No,” he said, then shook his head.  “I mean, yes. But not now.” He turned around to face her. “There’s a lot I should tell you. That I want to tell you. But once I start…” He paused, and B’Elanna was alarmed to see his eyes growing damp. “I’m not going to be able to stop. And I don’t think I’ll be very useful for awhile afterwards."

B’Elanna didn’t anticipate how hard this anniversary would be for him. She put a hand to his cheek, “Tom, I can clear my schedule; we can get the Doctor to let you out of your shift. You’re obviously struggling with this.”

Tom gave her another sad smile, and shook his head. “Life in the Delta Quadrant doesn’t really allow for mental health days, B’Elanna.” He swiped roughly at his eyes, and looked down. “I guess it’s pretty obvious -- to you anyway -- I’m not feeling very good about myself right now. But it’ll keep until tonight.”

“Tom…” B’Elanna said, concerned.

He lifted his face and met her brown eyes with his blue ones. “I’m OK. I mean, OK enough for now,” he amended at her skeptical look. “The Doc has a mile-long list of incredibly involved yet mind numbingly tedious tasks that will keep my mind off things for the next several hours.  I promise we’ll talk tonight. But right now...I need some space. I just need to focus on something else for awhile. Anything else.”

“All right,” she said slowly. “But you promise we’ll talk at dinner?”

“I promise. You don’t even have to threaten to break my arm," he said, and kissed her gently on her ridges.

“I’m holding you to that, _parmaqqay_ ,” she responded softly, and tried to forget her worry as she left for Engineering.

 

* * *

 

Running biobed diagnostics was generally one of Tom’s least favorite tasks. But between the lack of sleep and his general state of mind, he didn’t trust himself at the conn this morning. So he called in one of the many favors Baytart owed him, (the man was terrible at poker) and decided to spend his shift catching up on the massive backlog of “housekeeping,” as the Doc liked to call it. And these diagnostics were exactly what he needed -- they required close attention to detail, yet exactly zero critical thinking. The only thing that might have been better at keeping his mind occupied was getting the grease monkey program up and running again, and since their marriage Tom tried to save most of his free time for B’Elanna, (and Harry, for whatever holodeck activity B’Elanna was currently dismissing as “childish and a complete waste of of time for anyone that’s evolved past a chimpanzee.” At the moment, this included any holodeck activity she was too pregnant to participate in. She only tolerated being left behind when she _chose_ to be left behind.).

He’d been waiting for B’Elanna to come find him, knowing she’d be worried when he wasn’t beside her when she awoke. And he did want to tell her everything that was going on in his head -- B’Elanna understood him better than anyone he’d ever known. But there was still a part of him that was terrified of what she’d think of him once she heard the whole ugly story. He knew she loved him, but even with everything they had gone through together, he couldn’t rid himself of the nagging doubt that one day she would change her mind; that she would decide he was utterly without honor, and unworthy of her.

During the whole debacle with the Tarakis memorial, B’Elanna thought that he hadn’t wanted to confide in her because he was too traumatized by what had happened in the implanted memory. And because it was easier than the truth, he’d let her believe that. But the false memories hadn’t been the problem. Or at least, the false ones were just the tip of the iceberg. Somehow, seeing himself in that long ago battle had made his own terrible mistakes feel new again. His false memory had mimicked what he’d done in real life, after all -- sacrificing innocent people to save himself. He hadn’t meant for the three of them to die, of course; but he still felt ashamed that his first instinct was to let his dead friends take the blame for what had been a situation entirely of his making. And so, those many months ago, afraid to lose the woman he loved, he’d told her half-truths and said what she wanted to hear, so she wouldn’t pry too much into what lay beneath.

But he knew he couldn’t keep things from her, not anymore. That particular vow wasn’t an official part of their wedding ceremony, but it was an unspoken promise they made to each other and Tom knew it was time to tell her everything. It would break him if she looked at him differently after their promised talk tonight, but the alternative was worse. He knew how afraid she’d been that day in sickbay, how much courage and trust it had taken for her to admit her fears of abandonment to him. How he could be such a coward as to not tell her why he could barely look at himself in the mirror right now?

Tom was disturbed out of his reverie by the doors to sickbay sliding open again. “Hey, Harry. Shouldn’t you be on the bridge by now?”

Tom’s best friend stumbled over to the nearest biobed and leaned against it heavily. “I asked to be relieved,” he mumbled. “Something’s…wrong.”

Tom adjusted his tricorder and began to scan the younger man. “Yikes, I’ll say. Your temp is 39.7, several of your joints are inflamed, and you’ve got a leukocytosis with a marked left shift.”

Harry frowned at him, and wiped some sweat off his forehead, “Left shift? Is that bad?”

“It’s not good. Computer, activate EMH,” Tom called out.

The doctor shimmered into existence. “Please state the nature of the medical emergency.”

“Look’s like we’ve got a live one here, Doc,” Tom replied, handing him the tricorder.  

“I should hope so, Mr. Paris,” the Doctor muttered as he studied the readings. “This isn’t good at all! Mr. Kim, you appear to be harboring some sort of virus,” the hologram said in accusatory tone. “You returned from an away mission yesterday, I believe? Where were you, exactly?”

Harry looked like he was having trouble concentrating, but after a few moments replied. “It was a scouting mission for new food sources. We stopped at, uh, 3 planets, I think?”

“I need to run a full molecular scan. Lie back on this bed here, Ensign. Mr. Paris, I need you to contact every member of the away team and have them report to sickbay immediately. You’ll also need to find out every crewmember they’ve had contact with since their return, as well as start collecting relevant information on the planets the away team visited. I hope you don’t have any evening plans. It looks like I’m going to have to initiate a quarantine, and that includes you.” The Doctor stared at him. “What are you waiting for? Get started!”

Tom sighed inwardly as he tapped his combadge to contact the appropriate crew members. B’Elanna was going to kill him.


	3. Chapter 3

  ****

Three hours later, Tom entered the doctor’s lab. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“I want the ‘news’ in whatever order is most coherent and concise, Mr. Paris,” the Doctor sniffed, then started scanning him with a tricorder. “You’re still free of the virus, good.” He picked up a hypospray and pressed it to Tom’s neck.

“I thought you said I was virus free? What the hell was that?” Tom asked.

“A prototype vaccine. Your news, Mr. Paris?”

“Prototype? You haven’t even tested it yet? Don’t you need consent for that kind of thing?” Tom demanded, absently rubbing his neck where the Doctor gave him the injection.

“Don’t be dramatic. I’ve run computer models, of course. It should be perfectly safe.”

“Should be safe. Great. I feel very reassured,” Tom scowled at him.

“Your news, Mr. Paris?” The Doctor was getting testy.

“Right. The good news is that Tuvok and Neelix have shown no sign of the virus on repeated scans. The bad news is Mariah Henley’s got it. Her symptoms aren’t as bad as Harry’s yet, but they’re progressing rapidly. The worse news is that between Harry and Mariah, there are another 37 crew members that have been potentially exposed since they returned to Voyager yesterday. At least Harry thought to come here first before heading up to the bridge, so the command team is safe.”

The Doctor had returned to studying something under his scanning microscope. “And how many have Mr. Neelix and Commander Tuvok potentially exposed?”

“I told you they’re still scanning clear.”

The Doctor straightened to glare at Tom. “Mr. Paris, perhaps you have noticed that this virus was not picked up by a single one of the half dozen redundant biofilters we have set up to avoid this very scenario. I don’t think it’s too much to assume that this particular organism may behave in unpredictable ways, including having a carrier state that’s dramatically different and even more difficult to detect than its infectious form. Find out who Tuvok and Neelix may have exposed!”

“But Neelix served breakfast to half the crew this morning!” _God, Paris, stop whining!_ He hated it when that tone slipped out. It was a throwback to his teenage years that still raised its ugly head at times. In hindsight, he wondered if he had subconsciously started using it more it when he noticed how much it pissed off his father. _Parises don't whine_! Now he found the whining as annoying as the old man ever did, if not more. And yet, the Doc seemed particularly good at triggering it. _Oh crap, he's still talking_. Tom hoped he hadn't missed something important.

“Just because something is inconvenient, Mr. Paris, doesn’t mean that it can’t happen. In fact, in the medical field, it often seems that the more inconvenient a possible scenario might be, the more likely…”

The Doctor’s lecture was interrupted by a distraught Neelix. "Doctor! Lieutenant! Please come! Ensign Kim is getting worse!” The agitated Talaxian grabbed Tom’s arm and dragged him over to the main medical bay, the Doctor following them close behind.

“Hey, Harry, you ok?” Tom headed over to his friend, tricorder open and starting to scan. Poor Harry looked like he’d grown even more pale than when Tom last saw him not even ten minutes ago. His hair was soaked with sweat, and he gripped the sides of the biobed like he was afraid he was going to topple off any minute.

“Skip the tricorder, Mr. Paris. I believe Ensign Kim needs an emesis basin,” said the Doctor calmly, as he turned to load a hypospray.

Tom grabbed one from under the adjacent biobed, as Neelix helped the younger man sit up. As chief pilot, Tom was known for his lightning quick reflexes at the helm. Those same reflexes also stood him in good stead on the hover ball court, not to mention with Harry’s and his new ice hockey habit. Even at hand to hand combat, his fast response time made him a formidable opponent. None of this, however, meant he was fast enough to dodge his best friend’s projectile vomit.

“Sorry, Tom.”

How could he be mad at someone who looked so miserable? “It’s ok, buddy. Not your fault.” But Tom couldn’t hide his disdain as he considered his bile covered hands and uniform. Neelix discreetly handed him a food stained rag from the pocket of his apron. “Thanks,” Tom said.

“Doctor, have you discovered how the virus is transmitted? I would be interested to know how much of a threat this illness may pose the crew,” asked Tuvok.

“It’s really quite ingenious, for a non-sentient microscopic life form. The virus has managed to integrate itself into the protein structure of an immunoglobulin, specifically IgA. This means that a large portion of the body’s own immune system doesn’t even recognize the virus as something foreign -- the entire adaptive function of the immune system has essentially been neutralized. Fortunately, it also means that the virus is not airborne. Infection will require direct contact with bodily fluids that have high levels of IgA -- nasal secretions, saliva, tears, blood…”

“And vomit, I suppose,” Tom sighed. “Guess your prototype vaccine is getting a good test.”

“Mr. Paris, why are you just standing there, further contaminating my sickbay? Get a new uniform!” the Doctor snapped. “Once you’ve cleaned yourself, I’ll have to leave you in charge of Mr. Kim’s and Ms. Henley’s nursing care. Commander Tuvok and Mr. Neelix will assist me in scanning the potentially exposed crewmembers as the two of them are less likely to be carriers. Can you handle that, Mr. Paris? You seem particularly inefficient today.”

“I've got it, Doc,” Tom said, unable to keep the aggravation out of his tone. Now that he knew he needed to be ready to dodge some bodily fluids, how hard could it be to keep an eye on two patients?

* * *

 

As it turned out, keeping an eye on two patients infected with a virus that apparently laughed at every antiemetic in the Doctor's arsenal was not easy, although mostly manageable. It helped that Henley didn’t start puking in earnest until Harry had entered the dry heaving phase. However, when the Doc started sending him additional “victims,” things got a bit more dicey. Every biobed was now occupied, in addition to the five cots he’d managed to cram into the main part of sickbay and the Doc’s lab. He was also just informed by the Doctor that there were more patients on the way; while none of them were showing clinical signs yet, it was only a matter of time. Tom needed a new game plan. He had a long night ahead of him, and his body was already well aware of the fact that last night’s sleep had ended prematurely.

“This will never do!” the Doctor said in exasperation as he took in his crowded workspace.

“I’m open to suggestions, Doc,” Tom called out, before turning his attention back to Crewman Kennedy. “I know it sucks, Andre, but this part will be over soon. Harry and Mariah still feel like shit, but at least they aren’t puking anymore!” It was getting progressively harder to sound upbeat when talking to the sick crewmembers; he’d given up on trying not to curse an hour ago. Tom didn’t know if he had ever missed Kes as much as he did at this very moment. When Kennedy threw up on his boot a minute later, he knew for sure he hadn’t.

“I’m going to update the Captain on the situation now, Mr. Paris. We’ll simply have to take over another area of the ship for the duration of the quarantine. I’m going to enlist Commander Tuvok and Mr. Neelix to help with nursing care; in addition, I’ll request the Captain ask for other volunteers that are at low risk for infection to help out. They will all be under your tutelage, as I’ll be working on developing a more specific treatment to eradicate the virus,” the Doctor told him. Tom knew things must serious for the Doctor to talk to him like a colleague, rather than his typical mix of condescension and snark.

“How bad is it going to get, Doc?” he questioned.

“We currently have 32 confirmed cases. The human immunoglobulin protein structure is very unique, so it appears that all of the non-human crew will be resistant. None of the crew that were exposed to only Tuvok or Neelix are showing any signs of infection. Unfortunately, it’s now clear that human hybrids are at risk," the Doctor reported, worry evident in his tone.

Tom looked up at this. “Naomi?” he said, concerned. Mariah Henley frequently watched the young half Ktarian when Sam was on duty at night, as their quarters were near each other.

“Naomi,” the Doctor replied grimly. “I’ll let you know what the Captain says.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

  ****

“Here are the blood samples you wanted, Doc,” Tom said wearily as he entered the Doctor’s lab. Somehow seeing the hologram look as fresh and alert as he had two ( _or was it three?_ ) days ago when this whole terrible thing started made Tom feel even more worn out.

“If you’re here, then who is in charge of the patients in the mess hall?” the Doctor demanded.

“Tuvok has become a startlingly competent nurse, although Neelix beats him in the bedside manner department. Chell and Celes are catching on quick enough to do the basic stuff," Tom said, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “You need me to do anything for these patients while I’m up here?”

“Yes, reassess hydration and electrolyte levels and confirm the biobeds are adjusting fluid therapy appropriately. Pay close attention to Naomi particularly -- she's been holding her own, but given her age and Ktarian heritage, she’s at higher risk for fluid overload than the others.”

“Right. I’m on it, Doc,” Tom said as he started shuffling towards the biobeds. Actually picking up his feet all the way off the carpet seemed like a giant waste of energy right now.

“First Mr. Paris -- call your wife,” the Doctor instructed.

“What?” Tom looked at him, confused.

“Your wife, Mr. Paris. The mother of your unborn child? The short half Klingon that rules Engineering with a duranium fist?” the Doctor said. “After I updated the Captain last night, she informed me B’Elanna requested you comm her. I told her you likely wouldn’t have an opportunity until this morning, given this new development of opportunistic pneumonia. Now, however, seems a reasonable time as no one is in any immediate crisis.”

“Wait,” Tom said, still confused, “It’s tomorrow?”

“Of course not, Mr. Paris!” the Doctor snapped. “It’s today, as always! Now I’m not interested in being interrupted every half hour by your spouse because she hasn’t heard from you yet. As I’m sure you’re aware, Lt. Torres can be very persistent. Please contact her now, but make your conversation a short one. Patient care needs to be your top priority.”

Tom nodded, then took a seat at the Doctor’s desk. That was his first mistake. He then activated the console and called B’Elanna on her private channel. He pillowed his head on his folded arms as he waited for her to respond. That was his second mistake.

“Tom? Tom!” _Who was yelling at him?_ “TOM! You stupid _petaQ_! Wake up!” _Oh. That’s who was yelling at him._ Tom sluggishly picked up his head to see his wife’s glaring face on the monitor in front of him.

Tom couldn’t stop a giant yawn from escaping, “Hey there, Gorgeous. Long time, no see.”

“ _Kahless_ , Tom, I thought you had passed out. Don’t scare me like that!” B’Elanna looked particularly fierce. Which either meant she was very worried or just feeling particularly fierce. “You aren’t sick, are you?” she demanded.

“Nope. The Doc has me scanning myself three times a day and no sign of the virus yet. His vaccine seems to be doing the trick, although he says it hasn’t been long enough to risk breaking quarantine yet.” Tom yawned again, and rested his increasingly heavy head on his hands. “I’m just really. Effing. Tired.”

“When was the last time you got some sleep?” she asked him.

“Sleep? Do I remember sleep… hmm,” Tom squinted at her. “As I thought today was still yesterday, I’m going to say it’s been way too long.”

“You’re clearly exhausted, Tom! You need a break,” B’Elanna said, agitated. “Remind that idiot hologram he’s the only one that can work 24 hours a day without some rest.”

“As soon as I have an extra five minutes to sit through another lecture on my astounding lack of dedication to my patients, I’ll be sure to do that.” Tom let his eyes drift shut again.

“Tom, I’m not kidding,” B’Elanna snapped in frustration. “You can’t keep going like this. If you do, you’re going to mess up; give someone the wrong medication or something. You of all people should know that.”

Tom jerked his head up and stared at her, suddenly wide awake. “Yeah, I guess I should,” he said quietly.

B’Elanna paled. “Shit, Tom, that’s not... I meant because you have medical training, you know people shouldn’t work when they’re sleep deprived. I didn’t mean…” she trailed off, now just clearly worried and all the previous fierceness gone.

Tom let his face go blank. “It’s fine, B’Elanna. I know what you meant. And you’re right, of course. I’ll talk to the Doc about making sure all the nurses get some rest.  I better go, actually, I need to check on some patients.”

“Of course,” she said, and paused. “Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you. Comm me again soon?”

“I’ll try,” he said, and attempted a smile as he ended the call.

* * *

“Hey, Mariah,” Tom said softly, “How you feeling?"

“Pretty fucking shitty, Lieutenant.” she moaned back at him, barely opening her eyes.

Tom chuckled sympathetically as he scanned her. “Don’t hold back, Henley. No need to be stoic here.”

As the only former Maquis amongst his pilots, Mariah Henley had expressed a particularly vicious animosity towards him when he was promoted to chief helm officer nearly seven years ago. They hadn’t crossed paths at all during his brief tenure on Chakotay’s ship -- apparently the Commander had brought her in to replace him after his arrest -- so he had been a bit surprised at exactly how much venom she flung at him at their first meeting. The ‘Fleeters didn’t think much of him those days either, of course; but as was typical of Academy grads they were passive aggressive in their resentment -- the late report, the slightly delayed “sir” when responding to a command. Honestly, he had sort of appreciated that Henley had been open in her disrespect. At least he had always known where he stood with her.

Gradually, though, over the course of their travels in the Delta Quadrant, the piloting department had become one of the tightest on the ship. Only the engineers rivaled them in loyalty to their department head, and Tom frequently insisted to B’Elanna that the pilots’ devotion to him was superior in quality since it wasn’t partially motivated by terror. Predictably, Henley was the last to come around; but Tom knew now that she always had his back. In fact, she was one of the first to remind him of that after his 30 day stint in the brig.

So he really hoped that the readings he was getting on his tricorder weren’t as grim as they looked.

“So,” she croaked at him, “How am I doing?

“Your GI tract is looking much healthier than it did 48 hours ago. But your lungs…not so much.” He said, smiling to hide his concern. “How’s your breathing feel?”

“Like Chell parked his fat blue ass on my chest. Or like Chakotay crashed another shuttle directly into it.” She started to laugh, but it quickly turned into a wet, heavy cough. Tom moved to help her sit up, concerned by the bluish tinge to her lips.

Tom pressed a hypospray of trioxime into her neck to give her some temporary relief. “I think it’s time to get you on respiratory support, Mariah. I’m going to comm over to sickbay and see if we can swap out one of the more stable patients there for you; then we can get you into a biobed, OK?”

“You’re the boss,” she wheezed, leaning heavily into him.

“And don’t you forget it,” he said, as he gently help her lie back down on the cot.  

“Tom.” She grabbed at his uniform as he started to rise. “Before you go, can I tell you something?”

“Sure, Mariah,” he replied, as he eased back onto the cot to sit beside her.

“I just wanted to thank you,” she said, clearly struggling to stay focused on him.

“Thank me? For what? The analgesics? Holding your hair while you threw up?” He grinned at her. “All part of the service, ma’am.”

“No, not that,” she said, gripping his arm. “For everything else. For teaching me to be a better pilot -- a great pilot. And for showing me how to be a good officer… and a good person.”

“Mariah,” he said soothingly, placing his hand over hers, “you’re fevered. You were already a good person. And Tuvok was the one that taught you how to be a better officer, as I recall.”

“What I was, Tom, was a real shit. Hell, we all were. We treated you like crap those first few months, and you just took it. Never let it faze you. You designed all those holodeck sims, took the time to show us your tricks, even when we were all bitching about you your behind your back.”

“Wait,” Tom said, putting his hand to his chest and feigning a shocked expression, “You guys didn’t like me at first?”  

“With all due respect, Lieutenant, shut up. I’m being serious,” she met his gaze intently. “I want to apologize for making things so hard for you. And to tell you how much I appreciate the fact that you rose above all the BS and became a great mentor to us, despite our fighting you every step of the way. It’s important to me that you know how grateful I am.”

“Well, now I know,” he reassured her. “And this sounds disturbingly like a conversation you have when you’re afraid you’re not going to have a chance to talk to someone again. But that’s not what’s happening here, OK? I’m going to get you down to sickbay, and you’re going to be fine. The Doc should have a cure anytime now.”

“Sure, Lieutenant,” Henley replied, letting her eyes slip close and her arm fall back to the cot. “Like I said, you’re the boss.”

“And like I said, you’re going to be fine,” Tom said, knowing he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may be wondering why I tagged Janeway in this if we're already in Chapter 4 and she hasn't shown up yet. She does play a pivotal role (if a relatively small one) in the back half of the story, so Janeway fans, be patient! Also, this is the first fanfiction I've written/shared, so any encouraging comments are...uh...encouraged. (Constructive criticism, too!)


	5. Chapter 5

  ****

Tom had tried to grab a few hours of sleep, but all he did was dream about people coughing, and vomiting, and dying; so when Neelix woke him to get help with a nebulizer treatment, he felt as if hadn't gotten any rest at all. The Doc had had to put Henley on assisted ventilation, which meant a medically induced coma, and Harry didn’t look like he was far behind. They had tried putting one of the afflicted crew in stasis, but that had actually sped up the replication of the virus. When the outbreak had started, Tom simply assumed that the Doctor would find a cure. He always had before. But after nearly five days of watching some of his closest friends gets sicker and sicker with no end in sight, he was starting to lose hope.

“When was the last time you scanned yourself for presence of the virus, Mr. Paris?” the Doctor called out to him. Tom was in sickbay, trying to instruct Crewman Celes on how to care for patients in the biobeds. The sheer number and the worsening health of the sick crewmembers in the mess hall had become overwhelming to the young Bajoran woman, and Tom was hoping that since the biobeds did half the job for you, working in sickbay would be a better fit for her.

“Uh, I don’t know, Doc. Yesterday, I think?” he responded, distracted. “Tal, it’s going to be fine. All you have to do is keep an eye on the monitors, and the bed will pretty much spell out what you need to do. The Doc’s just a few meters away in his lab if you need help.”

They both started talking to him at once.

“Mr. Paris! That is not acceptable! Keeping a close account of your immune status is vital to me determining the efficacy of the vaccine. The computer modeling is giving me conflicting data, therefore the vaccine's performance in a live subject is paramount to get this illness under control!”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I just don’t think I can do this anymore. It’s not my area at all, and the pressure of watching all these people get sicker and sicker is just too much. You shouldn’t even want me here, it’s just a matter of time until I mess something up. There are other non-humans on board that could take over -- Vorik! Or maybe Gerron?”

“Christ!” Tom barked, slamming his hands into the console in front of him, “Can you both just shut the fuck up for a second?”

Celes' face fell and she looked like she might burst into tears. The Doctor, on the other hand, just look royally pissed off.

“Mr. Paris,” he said in a low tone, “If you are incapable of behaving professionally, then I must ask you to relieve yourself of duty until you are able to do so. This will, of course, impact the medical care of your fellow crewmembers, but I will not tolerate being spoken to in that manner.”

Tom took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “Doctor, I apologize. That was insubordinate and absolutely uncalled for. It won’t happen again.” He turned to look at Celes. “And Tal -- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. It’s just that we need your help, more than ever now. We don’t have the time to train a new volunteer. And you _can_ do this. You’ve _been_ doing it the last few days, and you’ve done a great job at it, too.”

The Doctor sniffed at him, “Apology accepted, Lieutenant. You’ve been under a bit of stress, so I suppose this time I can overlook it. Be sure to make a viral check on yourself your next priority.” And with that, he stalked back into his lab.

 _Gee thanks, Doc, you’re all heart_ , he thought, as he put his arm around Celes' shoulders. “Listen, it’s up to you. Would you feel more comfortable up here on your own with the Doc as backup, or down in the mess with the others?”

“The mess, I think,” she said, her voice trembling a bit. “And you don't need to be nice to me -- I totally deserve to be yelled at. I’ve made a complete wreck of this, like always. I just don’t want to make anybody worse.”

“You won’t. And you haven’t made a wreck of anything,” he tried to reassure her. “Head back down there, and ask Tuvok to come up and cover sickbay for now, OK?” He watched her rush out the door, part of him still wondering if she’d panic and try to rejoin the healthy, non-quarantined part of the crew.

He sighed as he went back to Harry’s bedside, to finish the treatment he’s been demonstrating to Tal. He fought an urge to wake the Ops officer, and unload all the stress and worry and anger he was carrying onto his friend. But he knew that was selfish and not exactly conducive to Harry’s recovery. So instead he completed his task, rubbed his eyes, and adjusted the tricorder to start scanning himself for virus per the Doctor’s request. That’s when the alarm on Henley’s biobed started going off.

He scanned the monitor above her head. Her fever was going up again, and she was going to be at risk for seizure activity soon. He needed to get her temperature down. Fortunately, the Doctor had made some tweaks to a common antipyretic, stating it would be much more effective in its new iteration. He loaded a hypospray with the medication, and pressed it against the woman’s neck.

His stomach sank when a new alarm started going off only seconds later.

“Doc!” he cried, not even trying to keep the panic from his voice, “Henley’s in v-tach!”

The Doctor rushed to the surgical bay where Henley was lying. “What happened?” he demanded as he snatched the tricorder from Tom’s hand.

“I don’t know! Her fever had gone up again, over 41 degrees, so I gave her that new fever medication. What’s wrong?”

The doctor was placing a cardiac support device on the female pilot’s chest. “You did assure her potassium level was normal before administration as I instructed you, correct?”

“Yes, of course!” he said, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he became unsure. _Did I check it? Or was that Harry’s level that was normal?_  “I mean, I think I did,” he said, his voice shaking. “I don’t really know.”

“Wonderful,” the Doctor practically spat out the word. “Well, I _think_ that you may have caused a life threatening arrhythmia in my patient, Mr. Paris. How could you be so careless?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, distraught. “What can I do?”

“You can get out of my sickbay, Lieutenant, if you’re going to be negligent in your duties. Have one of the others come up here -- one that’s able to follow simple instructions, preferably.” The Doctor turned back to Henley’s bed with a curt, “Dismissed.”

Tom stumbled into the corridor, barely able to keep himself upright on his shaking legs. Once he passed through the doors, he fell onto his knees, throwing up the ration bar he’d hurriedly eaten an hour ago.

“What has happened, Lieutenant?” he heard a calm voice above him. “Have you become ill?”

Tom pushed himself to sitting, wiping at this mouth with his sleeve. “No, Commander,” he murmured, all the while thinking _I did it again_. He couldn’t believe that once again a careless mistake, _his_ careless mistake, might take a friend’s life. He looked up to see Tuvok’s hand extended towards him, an offer of help to stand.

As he accepted the Vulcan’s assistance, he knew at least one thing would be different this time. He wouldn’t try to deflect the blame or make excuses. This time, at least, he would take responsibility for what he had done.  

“I…” he paused, finding it difficult to make his mouth form the words. “I think I made a medical error. One that may cost Mariah Henley her life.”

“I see,” said the Vulcan, his expression unreadable as always. “Does the Doctor require my assistance?”

“Um, yeah,” Tom said, “He kicked me out. Said I was negligent.”

“While it would not be ideal for us to have a prolonged discussion at this time,” Tuvok said, “May I suggest that you not expend excessive energy on blaming yourself.”

“You weren’t there, Tuvok. I fucked up. I wasn’t paying enough attention. There’s no one to blame but myself,” Tom agonized.

“You are correct, Lieutenant, I was not there,” Tuvok replied. “And your knowledge of medicine is superior to mine. If your assessment is that you are at fault for Crewman Henley’s deterioration, I have no argument against it. My point is not that you are free of responsibility for her current condition, rather it is that it is not a constructive use of your time and energy to ‘wallow’ as humans frequently put it, in your guilt.”

“Oh.” Tom blinked at him, trying to process what Tuvok was saying through a haze of exhaustion and self-recrimination.

“I find that the human emotion of guilt in the long term has some usefulness. It can push individuals to make amends, and to better themselves in order to prevent future similar errors in judgement. In the short term, however, it frequently causes a sort of mental paralysis -- resulting in the sufferer being unable to take any action, for fear of taking the wrong one. Given that you are the second most experienced member of the medical staff, it is an inconvenient time for you to become incapacitated.”   

Tom let out a humorless laugh. “In other words, get my shit together and go back to work.”

“Crude, yet succinct, Lieutenant.” Tuvok regarded him with something akin to compassion. “I would also suggest, before you return to duty, that you have a meal and attempt to sleep. You appear quite fatigued, and I do not believe you have adhered to the break schedule you have set for the rest of us.”

“Thanks, Tuvok,” Tom said.

“I am gratified that you may have found my words helpful, Lt. Paris. I will go to assist the Doctor now.” The Vulcan made his dignified way around the pile of vomit Tom had left on the carpet, and entered sickbay.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Tom lay down on the cot in the curtained off area they had made in the messhall. They’d rigged it early on in the quarantine in order to give the caretakers at least the illusion of being separated the from the sick crew. He hadn’t taken Tuvok’s advice about the meal, as in his guilt even the thought of food made a wave of nausea roll over him. But he was hoping a few hours of sleep might make him feel vaguely human again, and perhaps give him the mental clarity to bury his self-loathing enough to be useful to their patients. As he closed his eyes, though, all he could see was Mariah Henley -- unnaturally still and near death.

“Lt. Paris!” Neelix burst through the curtain and started pulling him off the cot. “I’m very sorry to bother you, but we need your help. Now!”

Tom felt like he was moving underwater as the cook hustled him across the mess hall. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s Naomi. Her breathing has been getting worse and worse. I was going to bring her up to sickbay, but I'm not sure she'll make it there! She can’t seem to get any air at all!”

Tom moved to where the youngest member of Voyager’s crew lay, eyes closed and gasping for air. They had propped her up against her mother’s chest in a futile attempt to ease her breathing. Sam had contracted the virus as well, and was hardly what anyone would consider healthy, but her concern for her daughter clearly outweighed any issues she might have with her own discomfort.

Tom took the tricorder that Celes was using on the girl. “Shit,” he muttered to himself, “This is bad.”

“Tom, please,” Samantha said, tears in her eyes, “What’s happening? Why can’t she breathe?”

“It’s her Ktarian physiology. All of the sick humans have developed pneumonia, but her lungs are responding differently to the virus. She’s got something almost like emphysema,” he said, studying the tricorder readings intently.

“Emphysema? What’s that?” Neelix asked. “What kind of medicine should I get? An antibiotic? Trioxime?”

“No, none of that will help,” Tom said desperately. “She developed a bulla in her lung lobe that’s ruptured. She’s got a massive pneumothorax. Neelix, tell the Doctor to transfer his program here, now!”

“We already called him! He can’t leave Crewman Henley! He said we should get you!” the Talaxian cried.

“What?” Tom whispered. How was this possible? First Mariah, and now Naomi? _Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not again. I can’t do this again._

“Tom!” Samantha begged him, “You have to do something! Please don’t let her die!” The mother's agonized pleas sounded like they were coming from the other end of a long tunnel. His head swam as he tried to remember what he should do.

“Tom,” he heard again, but this time in a quiet, steady voice. “What do you need to do? How do we help you?”

He looked up to meet Celes’ unwavering gaze. She took his hands in hers and continued her steady encouragement, “You can do this, Tom. I know you can. You can save her. Just tell us how to help you.”

Somehow, the Bajoran woman’s calm faith spurred him into action. “Get me a trauma kit, now!” he urged her. He looked up at Samantha now. “I’m going to have to place a chest tube, OK? That will get the air out of her pleural space and let her breathe again. Then she should be stable enough to get her up to sickbay where the Doc can fix the tear in her lung.” Sam just nodded at him, ready to try anything to save her dying child.

Tom gently pulled Naomi from her mother’s arms, and lay her flat on the cot. He ripped open the thin cloth of her shirt as Celes arrived with the trauma kit. “I’ve never done this before,” he confided to her in a whisper.

“You’re Tom Fucking Paris,” Celes whispered back, smiling encouragingly. “You can do anything.”

Taking a deep breath, Tom focused on holding the laser scalpel steady, checking and rechecking his positioning before making the first cut. He then placed the thoracostomy device against the incision, and said a silent prayer of thanks when a hiss of air let him know it was doing its job. Within seconds, Naomi’s breathing eased, and the tricorder confirmed her oxygenation was dramatically improving.

Tom sat back on his heels, shaking with relief. “Neelix, can you take Naomi up to sickbay and let the Doc know what happened? He needs to repair the damaged lung tissue surgically. I just... I think I need a minute.”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” Neelix assured him. “Samantha, are you up for a little walk? I’m sure you want to stay with her.”

“Yes, Neelix, thank you,” she said, then turned to Tom. She placed a trembling hand on his cheek. “I don’t know how to tell you how grateful I am."

He squeezed her hand in response, and smiled, “All in a day’s work. I’m just glad she’s OK.” Tom watched Neelix escort the ensign out into the corridor, carrying Naomi in his arms. He stood up quickly and blinked several times to ward off a sudden dizziness. "Tal, can you and Chell handle things for a few until Neelix gets back?”

“Absolutely, Lieutenant. You can count on us,” Celes replied. "Are you going to lie down for a while? Because you look like hell.”

“Watch it, Crewman. Just because you saved me from one tiny panic attack doesn’t mean you can get all insubordinate on me,” he winked to take any perceived sting from his words. “And yes, I think I am going to lie down for a bit.”

Tom was making his way back towards the curtained area when another wave of nausea hit him, nearly causing him to double over. _Maybe I should hit the head first_ , he thought. _And why is it so damn hot in here?_

* * *

The Doctor walked down the corridor towards the mess hall, humming a cheerful selection from The Marriage of Figaro. While Crewman Henley’s cardiac event had initially caused him much consternation, it had resulted in a breakthrough of his understanding of the virus and consequently had enabled him to develop a cure. Upon review of the biobed’s stored data, it turned out that Ms. Henley’s potassium levels had, in fact, been normal; it was the way the virus interacted directly with the modified antipyretic that had triggered her arrhythmia. The nature of this interaction gave him the key to extracting the virus from where it had embedded itself within the immunoglobulin structure. Ms. Henley was now well on her way to a full recovery, as was Mr. Kim and both of the Wildmans.

The only factor that prevented him from experiencing unadulterated enjoyment in his achievement was, once again, Mr. Paris. The Doctor was actually rather fond of the pilot, though he would never admit to it. And frankly, his fondness was inversely proportional to how much time the two men spent alone together. The lieutenant had an uncanny ability to get under his holographic skin, and now the Doctor found himself in the undesirable position of having to apologize to him. He briefly considered whether the fact that Mr. Paris was now refusing to respond to his hails canceled out his need to make amends, but had to concede that the way he had castigated the pilot was the greater transgression.

He entered the mess hall a moment later. “Mr. Neelix!” he called to the Talaxian. Not his preference, but it was the first member of his temporary nursing staff that he identified.

“Yes, Doctor!” Neelix said eagerly. The Doctor had, in fact, never seen a Labrador Retriever puppy firsthand. Yet inexplicably, Neelix’s relentlessly buoyant demeanor never failed to trigger the association in his mental algorithms.

“I have good news. I have developed a cure for the virus. It is highly effective, and has no significant side effects. You and the others should begin to administer it immediately.” He handed the case of medical supplies to the cook. “Where is Mr. Paris? He should supervise the initial dosing to ensure it is being done properly.”

“Tom? Hmmm….” Neelix spun around rapidly, as if expecting the pilot to appear out of thin air. “I haven’t seen him in awhile.  Crewman Celes!” he called out. “Have you seen Lt. Paris anywhere?”

“He went to go lie down about two hours ago,” she said, walking over to them. “He’s probably still sleeping. He was pretty worn out.”

All three turned to look at the curtained off area in the corner of the mess hall. The curtain was still pushed aside from when Neelix had grabbed Tom to help Naomi. The cot was empty.

“Computer,” the Doctor called out, “What is the current location of Lt. Paris?”

“Lt. Paris is located in the starboard head on Deck 2, Section 13.”

It took 4.6 minutes for the Doctor to make his way to the bathroom, knock several times with no answer, and use his medical authorization to unlock the door. Being a hologram, however, he responded quite rapidly to the sight of Tom Paris lying unconscious in a pool of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing some traveling, so this will be the last chapter posted for about a week. It's a better breaking point than the end of the next chapter. And while I love and appreciate the kudos, feel free to leave some comments, too!


	7. Chapter 7

  ****

The first thing Tom noticed was a steady beeping sound. It wouldn’t stop, and it was irritating as hell. He would have gotten up to turn it off, if only he could make his eyes open. And then he remembered:  he was in sickbay. The beeping was a biobed cardiac monitor. _The quarantine!_ The Doc was probably going to kill him when he discovered that Tom was sleeping on the job. But despite the looming threat of yet another lecture from the hologram, Tom simply couldn’t make his eyelids lift. He was just too damn tired.

The next thing he noticed was a quiet moaning. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place who it was. _Harry?_ No, that wasn’t right.

“Tom? Are you awake? Can you hear me?” That voice he knew. That was B’Elanna. The thought of seeing the woman he loved was a lot more motivating than that of being yelled at by the angry Doctor, and it was enough to make his eyes blink open. The lights were dimmed, but he could make out his wife’s worried face hovering over him.

“Hey there,” she said, smiling at him. “Welcome back.”

Tom’s brow furrowed. There was something he was forgetting, something important. But everything felt so heavy, and he was warm, and the bed was soft, and it had been a really, really long time since he’d had a good night’s sleep. Just as he was about to slip back into unconsciousness, it hit him. “B’Elanna,” he croaked, fear edging his voice, “You can’t be here! The virus, the baby…” 

“Shhh, _parmaqqay_ ,” she murmured, stroking his hair, “Everything’s all right. You don’t have to worry. The quarantine is over.”

Over? How was that possible? The last thing he knew there were 30 odd dying crewmembers between here and the mess hall. He had just placed the chest tube in Naomi, and Mariah… “How? What happened?” he asked her. God, it hurt to talk. “Mariah? Harry?” That was all he managed to get out before he started coughing. Crap. That hurt more than the talking did. But he needed to know what was going on.  

“Calm down, Tom,” B’Elanna scolded him gently as she placed a straw at his lips. “Drink this, stop trying to talk, and I promise I’ll tell you everything. OK?” He nodded in response, and started to sip at the watered down juice she offered him. It felt ridiculously good on his parched throat.

B’Elanna then told him all that he had missed in the past three days. ( _Three days?!_ ) Tom’s aching joints and heavy chest had already clued him into the fact that the Doctor’s prototype vaccine had not been completely effective. B’Elanna explained it had only slowed down the rate of viral replication in his immune system to the point that the incubation period had been extended by several days. His lack of sleep had compounded the virus' symptoms, and after a protracted bout of vomiting, apparently he had fainted and given himself a concussion when he hit his head on the toilet. ( _Great. The Doc will never let me live that down._ ) Harry and the others had all been long released from sickbay, and many of them had even returned to light duty.

He had a suspicion he wasn’t going to like the answer, but he asked B’Elanna anyway, “Can I get out of here soon?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Paris.” Damn. The Doctor had heard him and was heading their way. “Unfortunately, the extended incubation period caused by the vaccine resulted in a particularly aggressive strain of the virus. Despite the fact that you became ill only after I developed the treatment, we very nearly lost you. Blood loss and a concussion that didn’t get immediate attention haven’t done you any favors either. And the lack of sleep! Your poor nutrition habits! Really, Mr. Paris, you must realize that as an organic life form you need to set limits for yourself. You mustn't think the admittedly high expectations I have for my own performance apply to you.”

Tom gaped at him. “But you… Every time I tried to… You never…”

“What is wrong with you, Lieutenant?” The Doctor took out his tricorder. “Your head injury appears to be healing adequately. You shouldn’t be experiencing language deficiencies.”

Tom looked to his wife for assistance as he continued to sputter inarticulately. “Not worth it, Tom,” she patted his hand knowingly. “Best to just let it go.”

“Try to get him to take more fluids, B’Elanna. And then encourage him to go back to sleep. He has a lot of it to catch up on.” The Doctor snapped his tricorder shut and started to walk back to his office.  “I’m going to shut down briefly for a much overdue defragmentation. Be sure to reactivate me when you leave. ”

“Doc, wait,” Tom called out to him. When the Doctor stopped and turned back towards the bed, he continued, “I want to apologize again. About Mariah. I should have recognized I was too tired to be working alone. I’m just glad you were able to fix my mistake, and she’s OK now.”

The Doctor looked perplexed for a short moment, then his face cleared. “Of course. You wouldn’t know yet.”

Time seemed to slow for Tom as he waited for the Doctor to continue. _Wouldn’t know what? Did I misunderstand? Did Mariah not make it?_

“You didn’t make any mistakes, Mr. Paris. Ms. Henley’s potassium level was normal as you initially reported. The reaction she had to the antipyretic was in fact the key to developing the cure. You inadvertently saved the day, in a manner of speaking. Actually, I must admit, your performance during the quarantine was entirely adequate. For the most part.” The Doctor turned away again, and continued back to his office.

“High praise,” B’Elanna snorted, “Try not to get a big head now.”

Tom gripped her arm. “Is she really OK B’Elanna? Mariah? You would tell me if she wasn’t, right? If something had happened?”

B’Elanna looked at him with concern. “Tom, she’s fine. The Doctor said as much. We wouldn’t lie to you about something like that.” She studied his face for a moment. “What’s going on?”  

Tom swallowed hard, and found he couldn’t meet his wife’s eyes. “There’s something we should talk about. Something I meant to tell you before the outbreak started.”

At that moment, the doors to sickbay slid open and admitted the Captain. She walked over to the biobed and lay her hand on B’Elanna’s shoulder, giving Tom a kind smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt, B’Elanna. I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t important."

"What happened?" the engineer asked warily.

“There’s a feedback error from the EPS relays that’s altering the deuterium levels before they reach the antimatter chamber. Lt. Carey has been working on it with Seven of Nine, but they’ve hit an impasse. We’ll be stuck at impulse soon if we don’t address it,” the Captain told her.

“Damn it! I fixed that last night!” B’Elanna slammed her fists hard enough into the side of Tom’s bed that even in his fever induced torpor, he flinched a little. She then closed her eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through her mouth. “Fine. It’s fine,” she said calmly, opening her eyes again. “I can be there in ten minutes, Captain.”

“Hey,” Tom said softly, taking her hand. “Go now. It’s OK. I’m OK. This can wait.”

“It’s _been_ waiting, Tom,” she said to him. “I want to be here for you if you need me.”

“The Doc made it pretty clear I’m not going anywhere. You know where to find me when you’re done. Go take care of the ship.” He patted the bed. “Now I know why she feels sluggish.”

B’Elanna rolled her eyes at him, “You cannot feel how fast the ship is going. It is simply not possible, no matter how many times you claim it is.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  

“I’ll be here.”

Tom and the Captain watched her as she passed through the sickbay doors into the corridor. “I’m sorry I had to take her from you, Tom. I wouldn’t have if there was another option.”

He forced a smile, “It’s OK, Captain. Duty calls, right?”

“Will my company do instead?”

“You don’t have to stay. I’m sure you’re busy.”

“Not so busy I can’t make a little time for my favorite pilot.” She sat down on the stool B’Elanna had occupied a few moments ago. “I’m glad to see you awake and feeling better, Tom. We’ve all been worried about you.”

“Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be back on duty in a few days,” he said quietly.

Janeway considered him a moment. “B’Elanna seems to be taking Tuvok’s anger management lessons to heart. I think even a year ago that outburst would have turned into a full blown warp core breach.”

“Yup.”

“Neelix and I are planning on getting married next week. I’ve decided it’s time to settle down. Stop focusing so much on my career. Maybe have a few kids before it’s too late.”

“Of course, ” Tom said automatically. He jerked his head up to look at her. “Wait, what?”

She smiled at him. “Just wanted to make sure you were listening. Are you all right, Tom? You seem a little down.”

He forced another smile. “I’m fine, Captain. In fact, I just got good news. I thought I had messed something up, made a medical error. During the quarantine? But it turns out I didn’t. Henley’s fine. What happened to her was just a fluke.”

Janeway studied his face intently. “That is good news.”

Much later on, when Tom replayed this conversation in his head, he came up with a multitude of reasons that might have explained what happened next. His fever. Residual effects of sleep deprivation. The emotional roller coaster he’d been riding all week. The fact that the Doc was pumping half the pharmacy into him. But ultimately, the only thing he knew for sure was that he was eternally grateful to whatever god one happened to believe in that the Doctor had just deactivated himself and didn't see anything. Because to his everlasting shame, what happened next was Tom Paris collapsed into a fetal position in front of his commanding officer and started crying. Not just any crying -- but the sort of loud, ugly, hysterical sobs that make most people start staring at their shoes and desperately try to come up with a reason to escape.

Fortunately, Kathryn Janeway, by any metric, was not most people.

It took several minutes of her rubbing his back and making soothing noises before Tom found he was able to calm down and start breathing normally again. When he was hit with the full realization of what he had just done, he pulled the thermal blanket over his head and started to moan.

“Tom? Tom, come out from under the blanket.”

“Please go away. Sir. Ma’am. Captain.  Please?”

“No.” The blanket twitched. “Don’t make me order you, Lieutenant.”

Tom sighed, and pulled the blanket off his face. He regarded Janeway with a sidelong glance. “This is the most humiliating moment of my life. And Abby McColgan once gave me a wedgie in front of my whole class when I was 9.”

The Captain gave him a look that suggested her patience was approaching its limit. “Maybe you need to stop trying to change the subject and just tell me what’s got you so upset, Tom. It’s clear you need to get it off your chest. Everyone is recovering from the virus. From what I hear, your performance during the quarantine was exemplary. So what exactly is troubling you?”

“Ten years ago,” he mumbled.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” she said, hands on her hips.

“Two days before the outbreak started. It was the anniversary. Ten years ago…” he trailed off.

Janeway’s expression softened, “Caldik Prime.”

Tom nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“I’m sorry, Tom. That must have been a difficult day for you. And the outbreak hasn't really given you any time to process it.”

“It wasn’t,” he replied.

“What do you mean, ‘It wasn’t’?” she asked, confused.

“It wasn’t a difficult day. I went to my duty shift. Played hover ball with Chakotay. Had a nice dinner with B’Elanna and put together a swing for the baby. It was a perfectly pleasant day.” Tom felt his face grow hot. “I forgot.”

He couldn't bear to look at her after his admission. After a moment, he felt the Captain put her hand on his arm. “Oh, Tom,” she said with compassion.

“What does that say about me?” he blurted out. “Every year since the accident -- after the Hirogen took over the ship, when I was stuck on that planet with Tuvok, even when I was in prison -- I did… something. I had a drink in their honor, or at least took a moment to _think_ about them. But this year…” He stopped for fear of losing control again."Forgetting an anniversary is not the same as forgetting them, Tom,” she said kindly. “I think you’re being a little hard on yourself.”

“Maybe I haven’t been hard enough. I killed them, Captain. I was too tired, and too hungover, and too fucking arrogant, and I killed my friends. And now I get to fly a starship, and have a happy marriage, and a family? I don’t deserve any of that. Especially when I can’t even be bothered to remember them on the day they died."

“Tom, that’s ridiculous. You're not the same person that caused that accident. You’ve earned everything you have now,” she said.

“You don’t understand,” he snapped. “You don’t know what it’s like to live with something like this."

Janeway raised an eyebrow at this. “Believe it or not, Mr. Paris, I do have some idea what it feels like to be responsible for the deaths of other people.”

Tom met her eyes then, ashamed. “I’m sorry, Captain. That was an idiotic thing to say.”

“You’re still running a fever, Lieutenant. I’ll forgive you this time,” she said dryly. Janeway gave him a sympathetic look. “You made a mistake, Tom; a terrible mistake, with terrible consequences. But it was an accident. You didn’t mean for them to die. And you can’t punish yourself forever for it. Your friends wouldn’t want that.”

“Maybe their families would,” he said softly.

“Have you ever asked them?”

Tom looked at her, startled.

“Maybe it’s time to reach out to them. Send them letters in the datastream.”

“I...I wouldn’t know what to say,” he admitted.

“Tell them you’re sorry. Tell them how much you still think about their loved ones,” she said, then smiled at him. “You’ve never had much of a problem with words, Tom. I’m pretty sure you’ll think of something.”

Tom was still considering his response when the Doctor rematerialized at his bedside. “Mr. Paris! Why are you still awake?” he demanded, before noticing his patient's current visitor. “My apologies, Captain. I was expecting Lt. Torres to be here. Regardless, Mr. Paris is still early on in his convalescence. He really should be resting.”

“Of course, Doctor,” she said, then turned back to Tom. “I’ll let you get some sleep. But give my suggestion some thought. It might just give you some of the closure you need.”

And Tom did give it some thought, as the Doctor tsk’d over his elevated cortisol levels and adjusted the blankets and lighting. Wondering what he could possibly say to the families of his dead friends was in fact all he could think about, as the sedative the Doctor gave him took effect and he drifted off to sleep.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Early evening that same day, Tom awoke again to be greeted by the Doctor’s disturbingly cheerful visage as well as a killer headache. An analgesic helped with the pain in his head, but didn’t do much to relieve his guilt-induced depression. Tom wondered how he could still feel so tired after being asleep for days.

The Doctor had propped him up in the biobed and was fussing again. “Your body temperature is officially back to normal. If you get plenty of rest and do what I say, I may even be able to release you to your quarters tomorrow. Mr. Paris? Are you listening to me?”

Tom shook his head to clear it. “Sure, Doc. No fever, rest, follow your orders, etc, etc.”

The Doctor frowned at him. “It concerns me when you act compliant, Mr. Paris. It’s very out of character. Nevertheless, I suppose I should take advantage of this rare cooperative mood. It’s time for you to start taking your nutrition in a more conventional manner.” He moved towards the sickbay replicator.

Tom felt his stomach clench. “I don’t know, Doc. I’m still feeling kind of queasy. Maybe tomorrow would be better.”

“Nonsense. There’s no physiologic reason for you to feel nauseated. It’s all in your head.” The Doctor came back, bearing a tray with a covered dish. Tom noted with suspicion that the hologram was absolutely beaming. “And besides, I replicated your favorite!”

Tom eyed the tray warily as the Doctor removed the cover. He was surprised when the nostalgic aroma of garlic soup wafted towards him. “I realize it’s not ‘Good Ol’ Doc Brown’s’ recipe, but I’m hoping it will do,” the Doctor said, smiling.

Tom looked at the bowl, astonished by the hologram's thoughtfulness. “I can’t believe you remembered,” he said. “Thank you. This means a lot.”

“I’m hoping it cheers you up a bit. Really, Mr. Paris, you’ve been positively gloomy today,” he replied, placing a napkin on Tom’s lap.  

A short while later, when Tom was finishing up the soup, (which surprisingly was better than Doc Brown's), the doors to sickbay opened to reveal his wife. She had the sort of nervous fake smile plastered on her face that one gets when trying to placate a frightened animal or an irate toddler. _Damn it_ , he thought, _Janeway got to her_.

“You look like you’re feeling better!” she said, far more brightly than was typical for his irascible spouse. The Doctor excused himself with a significant look at the engineer.

“I guess you talked to the Captain,” Tom said, sulking a little.

“Maybe,” she said, drawing the word out. Her voice dropped an octave and her expression settled back to a state more natural for her. “She didn’t tell me much, actually. She just said that you were having a hard time. Which isn't exactly news.” She started to take his hand, when she suddenly clutched at her rounded midsection. “Oof.”

“Are you OK? Should I call the Doc back?” he asked, worried.

“I’m fine,” she grimaced. “I’d just be better if your daughter didn’t insist on kicking me in the bladder. Here.” She took his hand and placed it over her belly.

Tom pressed his palm against his wife’s abdomen, and felt his face break into a huge grin when he felt the flutter beneath his hand. “Hi, Baby,” he said softly.

B’Elanna touched his hair. “I think she’s misses her daddy talking to her when he thinks mommy is sleeping.” Tom looked at her, surprised.  “Oh please. Like I couldn’t have guessed you’d do something ridiculously sappy like that, even if I really had been asleep,” she said, shaking her head in mock disgust.

“B’Elanna,” he said, after a quiet moment, “When does the next datastream go out?”

“Tomorrow morning actually. Do you have a letter you want me to send?”

“Shit,” he frowned. Then he looked at her, his decision made. “I don’t have them yet, but can you come back in the morning? Before the datastream? And can you get me a PADD to use?”

“Of course,” she said. “But are you going to tell me who you’re writing?”

“I will. Tomorrow, assuming I actually get the letters written. I want to make sure I get them right.”

“OK,” she said, a little perplexed. “Is this about what's been going on with you?”

“Yeah,” he said, knowing it was long past time to have this conversation. “Actually, do you need to go yet? I think… I think it’s a good time for us to finally have that talk.”

B’Elanna touched his cheek gently, “I don’t have anywhere to be but right here with you.”

**  
**


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the last chapter was so short, I decided to post this one right away. It's sort of the second half of the last chapter, anyway, thematically speaking.

 

Lieutenant B’Elanna Torres walked briskly down the corridor, feeling lighter than she had in a week. Emotionally speaking, anyway. Physically, she was starting to feel like a bloated targ, but even that couldn’t ruin her mood. The quarantine was over, the engines were running at peak efficiency (even Seven admitted as much), her breakfast was still in her stomach where it belonged, and her husband was getting released from sickbay later today. She smiled in greeting at one of her junior engineers as she passed him, and he responded with a cautious smile of his own. She was downright cheerful.

She and Tom had talked for nearly two hours the night before. He’d told her everything -- what happened at Caldik Prime, and how forgetting the date had made him feel the same guilt and shame as when he caused the accident ten years ago. He told her of the terrible sense of deja vu he'd had when Mariah's condition deteriorated, and his panic when he realized he was the only one that could save Naomi’s life. He shared stories about the friends that had died, and how he still missed them. He had laid his soul out bare for her, and she only loved him more for it. When she told him as much, he had hugged her as tightly as the biobed and her increasing girth would allow.

It was still early, but B’Elanna wanted to check on Tom before the datastream went out in an hour. Still weak from the virus and his head injury, last night’s conversation had been cathartic for him but also exhausting. She’d left him a PADD as he asked, but B’Elanna assumed he never had a chance to use it, given that he’d been out like a light when she had left sickbay for their quarters. Still, she had promised she would return this morning to see if the letters were ready to send, and she didn’t really need an excuse to visit the husband that had been near death only a few days before. Besides, she was curious about whom the letters were for. That was the one thing he hadn’t told her last night, saying again that he’d let her know in the morning.

She had just reached the doors of sickbay when she first heard raised voices. _It was too good to last_ , she thought, resigned. She entered the medical bay to find the Doctor yelling a blue streak, and Tom looking an odd mix of exasperated, peaked, and the tiniest bit guilty.

“Lt. Torres! I’m glad you’re here," the Doctor said, irate. “Perhaps _you_ can explain to me why your husband insists on being so cavalier with his health?”

“What’s happening?” she asked, looking back and forth between the outraged Doctor and her husband, who just shrugged and tried (unsuccessfully) to look innocent.  

“What’s happening is that Mr. Paris decided to take advantage of the fact that I wanted a few hours of relaxation in the holodeck, and now he’s had a relapse! His fever is back! His cardiac function has declined by 10%! And I don’t even want to talk about his cortisol levels!” the hologram ranted, incensed. “They’re up! Again!”

“Apparently you want to talk about them after all,” Tom said peevishly.

“That’s helping,” B’Elanna snapped, glaring at her spouse. At the moment, she was siding with the hologram. She’d come far too close for comfort to raising this baby alone, and the idea that Tom was risking his recovery angered her. Her hands balled into fists, she deliberately turned away from him to speak directly to the Doctor. “What exactly did he do?” she said through clenched teeth.

“Shortly after midnight, knowing his condition was stable and believing Mr. Paris was sleeping peacefully,” the hologram scowled at the pilot, “I elected to transfer my program to Holodeck 1. Even holograms deserve breaks, you know!”

Still refusing to look at Tom, B’Elanna’s foot started tapping the floor irritably. “No one said they didn’t, Doctor. Continue.”

“I took every precaution! Including instructing the computer to notify me if there were any significant changes in the lieutenant’s condition. Imagine my surprise when I returned ten minutes ago to discover not only has Mr. Paris been awake for at least four hours, but he disabled all my alarms so he wouldn’t be disturbed! Just so he could write some letters!”

B’Elanna felt her hackles lower a bit. “Wait. He didn’t try to bust out of sickbay? Or go to work on the Flyer?”

“What’s wrong with the Flyer?” Tom said, trying to sit up.

“Not your turn!” B’Elanna growled and pushed him back onto the bed. In a slightly more controlled tone, she returned her attention to the Doctor, “Let me just be clear -- you’re upset with him because he woke up earlier than you wanted him to?”

“At least four hours earlier! It could have been more! I was gone for over six!” the Doctor asserted.

“Hey Doc, what exactly were you doing on the holodeck for six hours anyway? New program with the wife?” Tom smirked. He cleared his throat when B’Elanna’s glower locked on him. “None of my business. Never mind.”

“Doctor,” B’Elanna said, significantly calmer now, "While I certainly don’t blame you for being annoyed with… that," ("Hey!” Tom interjected, offended), “Isn’t it possible that the change in his condition was going to happen anyway? It’s not necessarily because he missed a few hours of sleep, is it? Didn’t the same thing happen to Harry and some of the others?”

“It’s possible,” the Doctor huffed. “But he turned off my alarms!”

“And I’m sure Tom is sorry for abusing your trust like that,” B’Elanna said, giving her husband a pointed look.

“Yes! Very sorry! 100%!” Tom nodded enthusiastically.

“I suppose I will let it go. This time."  The Doctor glared at Tom. “But I’ll be watching you very closely until you are fit to be released, Mr. Paris. Which may be days the way this is going!” He stomped back into his office.

“Days! Perish the thought,” Tom muttered under his breath.

“You owe me for saving you from that one, Flyboy.” B’Elanna still frowned at him, but the heat was gone.

“Big time,” he said, reaching for her hand. “And yet I’m still going to ask you for another favor.”

“The letters, I suppose,” she grumbled, and picked up the PADD on the bedside table. “Who’s so damn important they couldn’t wait another month?” She skimmed the names of the intended recipients. _Day. Launay. Katajavuori._ She looked back up at her husband. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he grimaced. “I’m not really sure about this. Do you think…” He shook his head. “No, I’m not even going to finish the question. I need to send these. It may be a huge mistake, but I have to do it.” 

“It’s not a huge mistake,” she reassured him. “It’s the honorable thing to do. I would expect nothing less.” She got a skeptical snort in response. “I’m serious, Tom. I’ll make sure these get to the datastream in time. Just do me a favor, and try not to get any more life threatening injuries or illnesses before I get back?”

“I’ll wait at least a week,” he smiled at her before his face turned serious again. “I love you, B’Elanna.”

“Then stop pissing off the Doc and get some sleep,” she replied smartly. She kissed him on his too-warm forehead and then headed to Astrometrics, holding the PADD with the respect and care the contents deserved.

 

  

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

Tom lay on the biobed, staring blankly at the ceiling of sickbay. He’d been awakened some time ago by a particularly bizarre fever dream. In it, B’Elanna had given birth, but to a baby-sized chunk of leola root instead of an actual baby. He then found himself running through Voyager's corridors with it, wrapped in a blanket decorated with tiny _batleth_ s, trying to keep Neelix from putting their leola-baby into his latest soufflé. He was now too achy (and frankly, too weirded out) to go back to sleep; he also lacked the energy to suffer through the lecture he was sure to receive if the Doc discovered he was awake again. Lying very still seemed to be the safest option.

He heard the doors to sickbay slide open, and the quick, confident step of the Captain. “Doctor, I’m glad you called me. There’s something I need to clear with you…” As she stepped into the office, her voice became muffled and he couldn’t make out the rest of her words. He could definitely detect annoyance in the Doctor’s reply, but it wasn’t clear exactly what he was annoyed about.

He must have dozed off after that, because the next thing he was aware of was the Captain’s voice. “Tom?”

“Captain!” his eyes flew open and he made an attempt to sit up.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently, “The Doctor thought you were awake.”

“I was! I mean, I am.” He fell back against the pillow. Sitting up was a lot of effort right now. “Sort of.”

“I can come back later,” she smiled at him.

“No, please,” Tom said, “Stay.  I could use the company.”

“All right,” she said as she pulled a chair nearer to his bedside. “Then we need to have a talk. Given your current health status, I wasn’t expecting you to cause me any trouble today, Mister Paris,” she said, with what he hoped was mock sternness.

“Captain?” Tom was confused, and not a little concerned.

“The Doctor seems to think your delayed recovery is in large part due to ideas I’m putting in your head, not to mention my historically poor example of how a patient should behave.” The gentle smile returned. “When I suggested you contact the families of the people that died at Caldik Prime, I didn’t mean it had to be today. “

Tom sighed in response. “I know. But once you put the thought in my head, I couldn’t seem to let go of it. I don’t know why I haven’t written them before. It’s the least that I owe them.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh, “Too much of a coward, I guess.”

Janeway put a finger under his chin, and forced his blue eyes to meet her grey ones, “There is not a person on this ship that would agree with that assessment, Tom Paris. Writing those letters, even if it took ten years, was a very brave thing to do.”

“I don’t know. I just hope it was the _right_ thing to do. That I’m not opening up old wounds. Maybe they’ve all moved on, made peace with what happened. And here I come, swooping in to make the pain fresh again, just to make myself feel better.”

“Maybe,” Janeway admitted. “Or maybe they’ll appreciate that you still feel sorrow and remorse for what happened. That you are doing what you can to honor the lives of their family members; by using your second chance to help people and make a real difference. Either way, Tom, there’s nothing you can do to control their responses to your letters. All you can do is reach out like you did, and continue being the best officer you can be. And one of the best officers I’ve ever had the pleasure to serve with.”

Tom suddenly found the blanket very interesting. “Thanks,” he whispered.

He watched as she placed her small hands over his larger ones. “And for what it’s worth, Lieutenant, _I’m_ proud of you for writing those letters. And for quite a bit more.”

After a long while, he looked up at her again and spoke, his voice low and rough. “It’s worth a lot more than I could ever say, Captain.”

Janeway blinked rapidly and cleared her throat, “Computer, what’s the current time?”

“The time is 16:59,” the computer replied.

“That means the festivities are about to start,” her tone upbeat.

“Festivities?” Tom asked, “Is Neelix throwing a party to celebrate that something other than his cooking made the crew throw up?”

“No,” Janeway replied, as she tried, and failed, to look disapproving. “This is just a small affair." The door slid open to admit Harry, Neelix and Naomi. “And you’re the guest of honor.”

The three new arrivals gathered around his biobed, effusive in their greetings. All of them looked far more lively than the last time Tom had seen them. And far more lively than he currently felt himself, at that. “We’re just waiting for one more,” the Captain said; she then called out, “Doctor! Perhaps you’d like to join us as well?”

“Oh, I’m invited to this impromptu soiree of yours, Captain?” the Doctor replied archly. “I thought my only role here was to recommend against it, so you could once again completely disregard my medical advice.” Despite his words, the Doctor efficiently made room for himself at Tom’s bedside.

“Try to tone down the wet blanket parameters of your programming, Doctor,” the Captain frowned at him, “At least the for the duration of our little ceremony here.”

The Doctor’s likely ill-advised retort was destined never to be heard, as at that exact moment the Chief Engineer chose to make her arrival, “Sorry! I know I’m a little late.”

“What happened to ‘the pregnancy won’t slow me down a bit,’ Maquis?” Harry Kim smirked at the petite half Klingon.

“Watch it, Starfleet, or I’ll show you exactly how slow my fist isn’t when I’m punching you in the jaw,” B’Elanna growled in reply. Her expression completely altered as she gazed down at her recumbent husband. “Hi, Tom,” she said affectionately, as she took his hand in hers.

“Hi,” he murmured, then looked at the people gathered around him. “Does someone want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Lieutenant Thomas Eugene Paris, as captain of the USS Voyager and your commanding officer,” Kathryn Janeway intoned, “I would like to inform you that I have officially entered a commendation in your service record, for the outstanding dedication and leadership you showed during the recent medical crisis. Despite medicine not being your chosen field, your aptitude and abilities saved many lives this week, as well as prevented a serious outbreak from spreading throughout the entire ship. As of this morning’s data transmission, I have also nominated you for consideration for a Leonard McCoy Humanitarian Award, for outstanding achievement by a member of the medical support team.”

“Captain,” Tom stammered as his already flushed cheeks turned a bright pink, “I don’t know what to say…”

“It’s very unlikely you’ll get the award, Mr. Paris. I was just reviewing the preliminary nomination lists an hour ago, and given the impressive accomplishments of an Andorian nurse on Maranga IV…”

“Doctor!” the Captain barked, “Now is not the time!”

The Doctor had the good sense to appear slightly abashed, but not to stop talking. “It _would_ be nice if someone thought to nominate me, in the doctor category of course, considering how much…” He trailed off in face of the trademark Janeway Look, trained full force in his direction. “As you were saying, Captain,” he said meekly.

“As I was saying,” the Captain repeated firmly, “I wanted to officially recognize everything you did this week for the crew of Voyager, Tom. But some of us thought a little informal acknowledgment might be appreciated as well. Mr. Kim, if you would?”

“It would be my honor, Captain!” Harry replied jauntily. “Naomi, that’s your cue!”

“Yes sir!” Naomi began to bang her hands against the biobed, in a reasonable facsimile of a drum roll.

“On behalf of all the people that vomited on you during the recent medical crisis-,” Harry started.

“As well as those that helped you clean up the vomit!” Neelix continued.

“We’d like to present you with this token of our appreciation and affection. Neelix?” Harry nudged the cheerful Talaxian, who brought a small kidney shaped object out from behind his back and handed it to Tom.

Tom turned it over in his hands, confused. “Um, guys? This is an emesis basin.”

“That’s not just any emesis basin!” Harry said indignantly. “We had it engraved!”

Tom turned it again, and noticed some words written inside the bowl:

 

_For Lieutenant JG Thomas Eugene Paris_

_The Best Damn ~~Pilot~~ Nurse in Two Quadrants_

 

And for the first time in what felt like a very long time, Tom found himself laughing out loud.

 


	11. Epilogue

 

Lt. Tom Paris was stalking the corridors of Voyager, trying fruitlessly to keep himself occupied. Chakotay had unceremoniously kicked him off the bridge two hours earlier, not-so-nicely informing him that his fidgeting was going to make Voyager crash into a planetoid. He thought he'd finish the rest of his shift in sickbay, but hadn't even gotten completely through the doors when the Doctor spotted him and sent him packing with a simple but firm, "No." The holodecks were taken. The shuttles were all in perfect working order. He briefly considered helping Seven out in Astrometrics, but decided that he couldn't handle her particular brand of brutal honesty today. What he wouldn't give for a hostile alien attack or a warp core breach right now.

He had thought there was still one place he would be welcome and one person who would be happy to keep his mind occupied. At least, he had thought that until every single one of her engineers insisted they didn't know where she was. When he finally found her working on the floor behind a rarely used console on the upper level of Engineering, he was pretty confident he knew the score.

"Are you really hiding from your devoted husband, Torres?" he demanded as he leaned over the console.

"Wouldn't you, if you were in my shoes?" she asked, not looking up from her PADD. "You barely slept last night, and you were so antsy this morning you burned my toast three times. Three times, Tom. You shouldn't get between an expectant mother and her breakfast."

Tom settled onto the floor next to her, his chin on his knees. "Sorry," he said. "It's just… I had gotten to the point where I sort of forgot I even wrote those stupid letters. And now the day is here when I might actually get a response. I feel like a kid at Christmas; but a really bad kid that expects to get coal in his stocking instead of presents from Santa."

"Is Santa the giant bunny or the creepy fat guy?" B'Elanna asked, still engrossed in her PADD.

"Santa is not creepy!" Tom said, aghast.

"'He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake,'" B'Elanna recited. "That doesn't strike you as a little off?" She finally put the PADD on the floor next to her. "Listen to me. You did something horrible a long time ago, something you can't really fix. But you can atone for it, and that's what you're doing. Every day. I hope they can see that. But if they don't, if they're too blinded by grief or anger...then there's nothing else you can do. Be a good and honorable person for yourself, Tom; because that's who you want to be. Not to get a pat on the back from someone you wronged half a lifetime ago."

"You're right," he sighed, "I know you're right. But only about the amends thing, not about Santa. I'm in charge of our daughter's cultural upbringing."

"That and poopy diapers, absolutely," she agreed. "Now go away and let me work in peace."

"Hmph," Tom replied, rising to his feet. "Sure you aren't going to need help getting off the floor, now that you've so rudely dismissed me?"

She glared at him, "You know, I'm getting sick and tired of all the cracks about how my body is changing. I'm pregnant, not crippled!" She stuck her hand out towards him, "And yes, by the way, I do need your help to get off the damn floor!"

And that's what had brought him to his aimless wandering of the corridors. He was nearly desperate enough to see if Neelix needed help in the kitchen when he heard a voice calling him from behind. "Lt. Paris. I have been attempting to make contact with you. Your current path of travel has been unpredictable." Seven of Nine was striding towards him.

"Why didn't you just comm me, Seven?"

"Lt. Torres suggested that I deliver any of today's correspondence addressed to you directly to your person, versus the standard methods of transmission. She implied the content might be material of a sensitive nature." Seven handed him a PADD.

"Thanks, Seven," he replied as he took it from her. "Sensitive is the right word."

"I noted that the surnames on the correspondence you sent last month matched those of the officers that died in the accident you caused at Caldik Prime. Are the letters you received today related to that incident?"

 _Yup_ , Tom thought, _Not really in the mood_. "Yeah, Seven, that's pretty much it," he said. "If you don't mind, I'm going to go read these in private."

"Why would I mind?" she asked him, "It is your personal correspondence, not ship's business."

Tom shook his head. "I'll see you later, Seven. Thanks for the delivery."

His quarters had never seemed so far away, even though in reality he had been only two decks down. He set the privacy lock and stared at the darkened PADD, not sure he was going to be able to face what was written there. After a long ten minutes and with his heart in this throat, Tom activated the device. Four letters. He scanned the names of the senders quickly.

Nothing from Bruno's family.

One from his parents (which really meant from his mother), another from his oldest sister. He'd save those for later.

The next was from Mme. Launay. It was short, and not unkind. But while the letter expressed a sense of forgiveness and no real anger, it also expressed her desire that she not hear from Tom again. _Could be worse_ , he thought.

The last was a long one, and was from the Days. This was the letter he was most afraid of. The Days were the best kind of people, warm and welcoming when Tom had been Charlie's roommate at the Academy. When Tom's father had been busy with official Starfleet duties and his mother had prioritized being an Admiral's wife over a cadet's mother, he'd found refuge in the Days' cozy New England home. Charlie had been their only child, and the center of their world. Tom sometimes wondered if that's why he had been so drawn to Harry, because of the many commonalities between his old best friend and his current one. While he regretted the pain he caused all of his friends' loved ones, the fact that he had hurt the Days was the hardest thing to take. He took a deep breath and opened the file.

"Dear Tom," the letter began, "Mitchell and I were so glad to hear from you. We know how much you loved Charlie, and we know how much you regret everything that happened. Neither one of us want you to feel one more minute of sorrow because of us. We were thrilled when we heard about Voyager and that you are alive and well in the Delta quadrant. As Charlie's closest friend, knowing you keep his memory alive is the next best thing to getting Charlie himself back…"

Tom read and re-read the letter, filled with happy memories, and understanding, and forgiveness. He was still holding it in his hands an hour later when B'Elanna came home and wrapped her arms around him in a loving embrace.

**The End**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I have the last names of Tom's friends from Caldik Prime right? Does anyone have an old copy of Pathways and can tell me? I remembered the first names, but couldn't remember the last names, so I used ones I found on a random website (they aren't on Memory Alpha as far as I can tell). I am a bit suspicious because Charlie Day is also the name of an actor on It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Oh well.
> 
> Anyway, we've come to an end! I hope you enjoyed it. Special thanks to all that left kudos!


End file.
